Rodeo Daughter

From Corral To Courtroom

Former rodeo star Amanda Markette is prepared to deal with anything her new job as a family law attorney can dish up. Until she learns her childhood sweetheart, Mitch Goodwin, is her client’s ex-husband and opposing counsel.

Mitch wants nothing more than to win full custody of the daughter he’s been raising on his own for the past four years. Until Amanda rides back into his life…

Amanda and Mitch know they shouldn’t give in to the connection that still sparks between them after fifteen years, but can they resist? And will Mitch ever forgive her once he learns the secret she’s been keeping—a secret that could change his life forever?

When Amanda’s hand brushed his, a low-voltage current shot straight up Mitch’s arm and across his chest

He studied her face and knew she’d felt the same thing. Curls had fallen onto her forehead and, using only his fingertips, he swept them to one side.

“Amanda?” he whispered.

Her cheeks flushed and her breath caught.

Though he wanted nothing more than to bend down and kiss her, Mitch told himself he had to draw back. “There’s too much at stake,” he whispered. “My daughter…”

“Right,” she agreed. “You’re absolutely right.”

He knew there was only one thing he could do. He had to leave before they crossed a line. They weren’t sixteen anymore. They were on opposite sides of a court case that could change his life, and Hailey’s life, forever.

Amanda dusted her hands. “We’ll meet here at the same time next week?”

“Yeah. Are you okay?”

“Sure. I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

She seemed so self-confident, but as Mitch made his way to the door he couldn’t help wondering if either of them was telling the truth…

Dear Reader,

Shortly after we were married, my husband and I spent a crisp fall weekend with friends at one of those old summer camps near Lake Saranac in upstate New York. Though the leaves had turned brilliant and we bundled up to walk along the shore or row across the lake, I could almost hear the laughter of those summer campers.

I imagined days of arts and crafts, archery lessons and swimming competitions. Nights around the campfire, roasting marshmallows and telling ghost stories. The thrill of falling in love for the first time, holding hands, sharing a first kiss, followed by the bittersweet rush to the mailbox for letters after the summer ended.

In Rodeo Daughter, Amanda and Mitch spent one such glorious summer together before their lives headed in very different directions. Fifteen years have passed. This time when they meet, they are adversaries in a custody suit filed by Mitch’s ex-wife. When a playground mishap forces Mitch and Amanda to spend time together, they walk an ethical tightrope as the love they felt that long-ago summer rekindles and deepens into something neither of them expect.

I loved writing Rodeo Daughter and hope you enjoy reading it. Special thanks go to Roxanne St. Claire, Kristen Painter and the ever-encouraging Lara Santiago, who introduced me to the magic of Library Days while I worked on this book. I look forward to hearing from my readers and invite you to stop by for a visit at www.leighduncan.com.

Leigh

Rodeo Daughter

Leigh Duncan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Award-winning author Leigh Duncan writes the kind of books she loves to read—ones where home, family and community are key to the happy endings we all deserve. Married to the love of her life and mother of two wonderful young adults, Leigh lives on central Florida’s east coast.

When she isn’t busy working on her next story for Harlequin American Romance, Leigh loves nothing better than to curl up in her favorite chair with a cup of hot coffee and a great book. She invites readers to follow her on Twitter or Facebook. Contact her at P.O. Box 410787, Melbourne, FL 32941 or visit her online at www.leighduncan.com.

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For Sandy

And all who dream of growing up to be real cowgirls.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter One

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Amanda leaned against the hood of her car. Staring into her father’s perpetual blue-eyed squint, she fought for composure.

“Sorry, Mandy.” Tom Markette managed to say the words without sounding or looking at all apologetic. “I need the biggest paycheck I can get, and Okeechobee offered it. Gas and feed ain’t free, you know.”

Amanda swallowed a bitter retort. There was more than money behind her father’s decision to leave her twisting in the wind, and they both knew it. But this wasn’t the time to dredge up old hurts. She shoved a hank of loose hair behind her ear and chose a different battle. She had more immediate issues to deal with, starting with the Saddle Up Stampede in…

“Dad, the stampede is in five days. Five days. You can’t back out now.”

Expecting to find her father in the practice ring of the Boots and Spurs Dude Ranch, where the bar association held its annual fundraiser, she’d closed her law office in nearby Melbourne and driven out to watch him ride. The instant she’d spotted his long form propped against his motor home, a familiar sinking feeling had formed in the pit of her stomach. Acid had burned the back of her throat when she’d spied a horse standing in the hitched-up trailer.

“Okeechobee lost their opening act and I took the job, baby girl. You know how it is. I have to take advantage of every opportunity.” Tom speared her with a calculating glance. “If you’d give up this foolish notion and join the team again, I wouldn’t have these problems.”

There it was. Eight years, and her dad still hadn’t forgiven her for walking away from the Markette Ropin’ Team. Well, he wasn’t the only one who bore a grudge. She held up a hand.

“You’re the one backing out of our deal. Don’t even try to lay this on me.”

She eyed the man who should be standing with his hat in his hand, gratitude showing in his lined face for the easy paycheck he would earn putting on a roping-and-riding exhibition at the charity fundraiser. Hoping to impress him with the clout she wielded as the newest member of the bar association, she’d given him the job. But her father didn’t appear grateful, much less impressed. If anything, he looked as if he couldn’t wait to hit the road. And if he cared one whit about the predicament his leaving would put her in, it didn’t show in the jaunty angle of the Stetson he’d perched on his head.

“By the time the show starts, three thousand people will be sitting right up there. Waiting for you, Dad.” Amanda gestured toward the grandstand, which would be filled to capacity in less than a week. “How can you let them down?”

She didn’t bother to ask how he could let her down. The fact was, neither of her folks had ever won a Parent of the Year award or shown any interest in her outside the rodeo ring. Their neglect had shaped her decision to specialize in family law, where her focus was always on the best interests of the child.

“Guess they’ll have to settle for someone else.” Tom Markette pushed himself away from his truck and reached out as if to hug her goodbye.

Amanda crossed her arms. “What, you think rodeo stars are hiding behind every palmetto bush? Or waiting in the barn till I call their number? No such luck.”

And where did that leave her?

She was in charge of entertainment for this year’s stampede. Come Saturday night, an empty arena was not an option. Not with her practice in its infancy and her reputation at stake. Not with every paralegal, attorney and judge in the county expecting the thrill and excitement of the best that rodeo had to offer. Not with at-risk kids up and down the east coast of Florida dependent on the money the event would raise.

“Ahh, Mandy. You always did worry too much. Royce and the rest of the crew’ll still be here, won’t they?”

They’d do some pole-bending rides, give a calf-roping demonstration. She’d lined up a live band and a country dance. All of which were small potatoes compared to the best roping-and-riding exhibition in the business. He was the headliner and the reason they’d sold so many advance tickets.

“Dad,” she said pointedly, “you signed a contract. You’re legally obligated to be here.”

“Yeah, well, so sue me, baby girl. I won’t be.” He laughed easily, his smile so charming Amanda caught herself wanting to please him, to persuade him to stay, to be proud of her.

Old news.

She stifled a groan. He had her over a barrel and he knew it. She’d no more sue her own father for breach of contract than she’d pick up the reins of the life she’d left behind. The only surprise was that, this time, she’d actually expected him to keep his word. She’d never forgive him for breaking it…again.

Her father tipped his hat back and gazed at her thoughtfully.

“All right, here’s the deal. I already unloaded Brindle. Left him in a stall right over there.” He thrust a thumb over his shoulder toward the Boots and Spurs stables. “I’ll leave him with you through the weekend. I’ll even swing by to pick him up on Sunday.” Her dad made it sound as if he was doing her a huge favor. “You can take my place, ride him in the show.”

Amanda stared from behind dark sunglasses. Was he crazy? Sure, she’d helped him design the roping and riding act he’d performed ever since injuries forced him out of the chase for the next big purse, the next gold buckle. But she’d put herself through college and law school since then.

“Dad, I haven’t been riding. Not in months. I’ve been too busy getting the practice off the ground. I have clients who are counting on me.”

Including one who had hired her that very morning. The custody battle between an admittedly prodigal mom and the father who’d had sole custody of their four-year-old deserved Amanda’s full attention. She needed to dig into the heart of the case, figure out why no other family law attorney in town would touch it. She sensed this one could be a game changer, that success would give her prominence on the highly competitive playing field.

Her father clapped his hands, eager to hit the road. Heading for the truck’s cab, he spoke as if he hadn’t listened to a word she’d said.

Which, Amanda realized, he hadn’t.

“You’ll be fine. I haven’t changed the routine since the last time you saw it.” He winked at her and slid onto the driver’s seat. “Brindle knows it so well, all you’ll have to do is hold on and let him do his thing. And who knows? Maybe you’ll enjoy it so much, you’ll chuck this life and come with me next time.”

The big diesel engine sprang to life. The camper and trailer it towed lurched forward. Amanda’s protests sputtered to a halt as the dust clouds settled in its wake.

With less than a week before the mini rodeo that was really more an exhibition than a competition, it was too late to find a replacement. She was stuck with the job. It wasn’t as if she’d never been on a horse before. She had. She even had her own gold buckle to show for the years of sacrifice and training, years she’d spent trying to earn her father’s love.

“Don’t go there,” she whispered.

There were other places she needed to be, though, things she needed to do. She made a list and started checking off the items one by one on her way to the stables. Knowing the first order of business was to clear her calendar, she tugged her cell phone from her back pocket and left a message for her secretary.

The familiar scents of hay and horseflesh filled her nose as Amanda stepped from bright sunshine and stifling heat into the relative cool of the stables. From the third stall down on the left, a horse nickered. A large pale head leaned out over the door. Amanda ran a hand over the horse’s neck and felt the palomino quiver.

“Hey, big guy,” she whispered to her dad’s second-best mount. “It’s been a while. You remember me?”

The horse snorted and nudged her shoulder, looking for a treat.

“That’s a good boy,” Amanda said. She might have put the rodeo scene behind her, but some things never changed. She pulled the expected handful of carrots from her pocket.

Blowing soft wet kisses, Brindle lipped them from her open palm.

“You ready for a little run?” she asked the horse.

Spangles glinted from the saddle her dad had tossed over one wall of the chest-high pen. A pile of blankets, bridles and other tack sat beneath it. Amanda straightened the fringe on a costume of soft caramel buckskin she hadn’t seen in years. She shook her head. Her father had thought of everything, eliminated every reason why she couldn’t take his place.

Well, except that maybe she was so out of practice she’d have trouble sitting in the saddle, much less standing on top of it while Brindle thundered across the arena. She gave a final thought to the case that had landed in her lap earlier that morning, and sighed. There was a ton of work to do in the two weeks before she and her client made their first courtroom appearance.

But all that would have to wait until Sunday morning, when the performance she’d never wanted to give was behind her.

* * *

MITCHELL GOODWIN LIFTED the miniscule teacup from the wooden table in the playroom. Shifting uncomfortably on the narrow painted bench, he raised the tiny piece of china, tipped an imaginary toast to his hostess and pretended to drink.

“Yum.” His cup rattled into its saucer. “Hailey, that hit the spot. Thank you so much.”

Across the table, a frown clouded a pair of brilliant blue eyes. Mitch noted the purse of rosebud lips, and leaned forward.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“You forgot to crook-ed your pinkie, Daddy. Mrs. Birch says it’s a rule.” Four-year-old Hailey Goodwin demonstrated. “Now your turn, Daddy.”

Beneath the tiny picnic table, the pointed toe of Mitch’s left boot pinched. He flexed his ankle to stave off a muscle cramp brought on by the longer-than-usual tea party. Cup in hand, finger properly bent this time, he took another sip.

“Wait! Your cup is empty. Put it down here.” Hailey pointed to a doll-size serving tray. “I’ll pour some more.”

Hoping to goodness that the exorbitant tuition he paid to Mrs. Birch’s Angel Care covered a lot more than lessons in etiquette, Mitch held out his cup as his daughter poured make-believe tea from a tiny china pot.

“Did your class sing the A-B-C song, honey? Did you practice your letters?”

“Would you like a cookie, Daddy?” Hailey held out a small plate filled with plastic wafers. “They’re coconut. Mrs. Birch says they’re the bestest kind.”

Uh-oh.

Mitch’s smile froze. When he’d stocked up on treats for the evening, coconut hadn’t been on his shopping list.

“The best, huh? Last week, you asked for chocolate chip.”

“Did you buy some?” Her eyes going wide, Hailey stared over his shoulder at the door to the kitchen.

“There’s a brand-new box on the counter. I bought them especially for you and Betty Jean.”

Hailey’s fists landed on her sturdy little hips. “Why does she have to be here, Daddy? I want you to tuck me in, same as always.”

“Hailey, remember your promise.” An hour of dolls and stories were his part of the bargain. In exchange, Hailey had promised to behave for the babysitter. Lifting his cup again, Mitch blew out air that he hoped his daughter took for a cooling breath and not an exasperated sigh. Life wasn’t fair, and little girls—even ones without mothers—couldn’t have their way all the time. “We talked about this,” he reminded his daughter when her glower continued. “Betty Jean will help you say your prayers, but I’ll kiss you good-night before I leave, and again after I come home. You’ll get lots of kisses.”

“And cookies?” Hailey asked, the picture of innocence.

Mitch bit back a laugh and shook his head. There were a few consolations to having a wife who’d abandoned her newborn to run off with another man. Karen hadn’t stuck around long enough to teach their daughter the fine art of manipulation.

“You know the rules.” Too much sugar and Hailey wouldn’t sleep well. “Just one.”

Dark curls spilled onto her face, nearly hiding the gleam in her eyes. “If I’m extra good, can I have more?”

His daughter drove a hard bargain. Someday she’d make a good lawyer, just like her father, and his father before him. His resolve weakening, Mitch answered, “Two. But only if you play nice with Betty Jean.”

“I will, Daddy,” Hailey said solemnly.

The storm that had gathered in his child’s face dissipated. This time, Mitch didn’t bother to try to hide his relief. His attendance at the bar association’s charity event was not optional. The district attorney might not stand at the gate with a clipboard or check names off a list, but the man would soon name his successor. As his protégé, Mitch expected to get the nod. Now was not the time to slip up by skipping an important appearance.

Besides, he practically had an obligation to speak with the star of tonight’s show, didn’t he? Sure, he’d been only sixteen that summer he’d worked as a counselor at Camp Bridle Catch. But he hadn’t forgotten the long days in the saddle, any more than he’d forgotten the green-eyed girl who’d stolen his heart the night they’d slipped away to a carnival in town. He tapped a finger against his lips, recalling the wonder of that first kiss, and the others they’d shared during long nights around the campfire. Though their love hadn’t survived past the summer, he’d followed her meteoric rise on the rodeo circuit. When she’d suddenly retired eight years ago, he’d wondered why. Tonight, he’d finally have a chance to ask Tom Markette about his daughter.

Strictly as one old friend asking about another, of course.

Mitch shot the cuff of a suitably Western-style shirt and checked his watch just as chimes signaled the arrival of the babysitter. Hailey’s little-girl laughter rang through the room. Their tea party abruptly forgotten, she charged toward the front door.

In the entryway, where stick-figure artwork crowded the walls, Mitch motioned Betty Jean into the air-conditioning that made life on Florida’s east coast bearable. The college student was familiar with their routines, so once Hailey calmed down enough for him to get a word in edgewise, he made quick work of the necessary instructions.

“There’s leftover spaghetti, mac ’n cheese, chicken tenders or fish sticks for supper.” He rattled off the list of Hailey’s current favorites. “Cookies for dessert. She can have a couple.” He waited until Hailey’s back was turned to signal that three would be okay.

“I’ll be home before midnight,” he whispered, wary of last-minute objections.

He needn’t have worried.

Betty Jean pulled bottles of glittery nail polish from her backpack, earning herself a big tip and his daughter’s instant devotion. Soon, the girls were chatting like magpies as they cleared away the tea things to make room for a manicure station. And when Mitch bent to deliver the promised good-night kiss, Hailey barely offered her cheek with a, “Bye, Daddy, see ya later,” before asking the babysitter which polish matched her outfit.

Seeing his child engrossed in the girlie stuff he didn’t quite understand, Mitch rubbed at an empty spot in his chest. For the moment, he shoved the feeling aside. But weaving his way through rows of cars parked on a grassy field twenty minutes later, he couldn’t avoid second-guessing his plans for the night. Now that his ex-wife had breezed back into town demanding not just a place in their child’s life, but full custody, should he have stayed home, tried harder to be both mother and father to his little girl?

The heel of one cowboy boot caught a divot in the grass, and his other foot came down hard. The move jarred Mitch, and he smiled, thinking it might have knocked some sense back into him. He was a prominent attorney. He’d worked hard to make a good home for Hailey. While he couldn’t guarantee the judge’s ruling, he could definitely prove he was a better parent than the woman who hadn’t called or visited her child in four years.

His thoughts settled, he stopped by the Boots and Spurs barn, where a band was setting up for the dance following the rodeo. Making his way past scattered hay bales and picnic benches, he dutifully checked out the silent auction part of the fundraising event. This year’s prizes ranged from a dance with one of the rodeo stars to riding lessons. Since Hailey would enjoy the latter, he scribbled down a bid before dropping a generous check in the donation box.

Then it was on to the arena, where he plunged into a milling throng. He bought a bag of freshly roasted peanuts from a vendor, and worked his way toward the stands, chatting with people he knew, greeting some he didn’t. He traded nods with Randall Hill, the county’s district attorney, before taking a seat in the reserved section. Mitch had barely settled into it when a cowboy on a gray horse raced onto the dirt track, quickly wove between several flagpoles, and sped back the way he’d come.

Top-notch entertainment?

Maybe not, Mitch decided as he cracked a few peanut shells. By the end of his summer at rodeo camp, he’d ridden nearly as well. He smiled, remembering how Mandy had taken pity on his inexperience and given him a few pointers on calf roping. He’d spent the next six weeks head-over-heels for her. His thoughts drifted to the stolen hours they’d spent in each other’s arms. The innocence of those days helped keep his fears about the looming custody case at bay. Or so he told himself, until the arena emptied and he realized he’d been so lost in thought he’d missed the warm-up acts.

“We’re sorry to hafta tell ya’ll that Tom Markette can’t be with us tonight,” a voice drawled over the loudspeakers. “But we got a real treat for ya. Takin’ his place is one time-member of the Markette Ropin’ Team and a champ-een barrel racer in her own right…Ma-a-and-y Mar-ket-t-te.”

Mitch searched the ring below. Had he heard correctly? Or had the flood of memories about his first love tricked his ears into deceiving him?

As he watched, an elaborately costumed blonde calmly made her way to the center of the arena astride a large and equally bedecked golden horse. Mitch’s gaze narrowed in on the rider as the pair turned, giving him his first good look at the woman Mandy had become. Gone was the coltish figure of that long-ago summer, replaced by womanly curves. Horse and rider stood still for several long seconds, until a hush fell over the crowd.

Then, without warning, Mandy let loose a rebel yell. Dirt sprayed from the horse’s hooves. The big palomino raced through a dizzying series of figure eights. Coming out of a final turn, the rider called, “Hee-yah!”

Instantly, the horse beneath her surged into a full gallop.

Mitch stared, unwilling to move, hardly daring to breathe. His heart pounded while Mandy danced in the saddle, sometimes standing, sometimes leaning so far over her long braids brushed the ground. When she wheeled for the final run, everyone in the crowd surged to their feet. Mitch scrambled to his, glad for the extra few inches that let him see over those in front.